Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Children's Books Aren't Kid Stuff

I often get blown away by the stories told within kids books. And no, this isn't some cheezy reaction to the Polar Express (although that post will be coming soon).

I just read a book called Fox by Margaret Wild and Ron Brooks to The Four-Year-Old. We picked it up at the library this evening by total random chance. I don't do it justice without the gorgeous pictures, but here's the story. Why don't adult books have pictures?

Through the charred forest, over hot ash, runs Dog, with a bird clamped in his big, gentle mouth. He takes her to his cave above the river and there he tries to tend her burnt wing: but Magpie doesn't want his help.

"I will never again be able to fly" she wispers.

"I know," says Dog. He is silent for a moment, then he says, "I am blind in one eye, but life is still good."

"An eye is nothing!" says Magpie. "How would you feel if you couldn't run?"

Dog does not answer. Magpie drags her body into the shadow of the rocks, until she feels herself melting into blackness.

Days, perhaps a week later, she wakes with a rush of grief. Dog is waiting. He persuades her to go with him to the riverbank.

"Hop on my back," he says. "Look into the water and tell me what you see."

Sighing, Magpie does as he asks. Reflected in the water are clouds and sky and trees--and something else. "I see a strage new creature!" she says. "That is us," says Dog. "Now hold on tight!"

With Magpie clinging to his back, he races through the scrub past the stringy barks, past the clumps of yellow box trees and into blueness. He runs so swiftly it is almost ass if he were flying. Magpie feels the wind streaming through her feathers, and she rejoices. "Fly Dog, Fly! I will be your missing eye, and you will be my wings."

And so Dog runs, with Magpie on his back, every day, through summer, through Winter.

After the rains, when saplings are springing up everywhere, a fox comes into the bush; Fox with his haunted eyes and rich red coat. He flickers through the trees like a tongue of fire, and Magpie trembles.

Dog beams, but Magpie shrinks away. She can feel Fox staring at her burnt wing.

In the evenings, when the air is creamy with blossom, Dog and Magpie relax at the mouth of the cave, enjoying each other's company. Now and again Fox joins in the conversation, but Magpie can feel him watching, always watching her.

And at night his smell seems to fill the cave--a smell of rage and envy and loneliness.